


black swan

by coldbrewgirl



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Angst, Art, Ballet Dancer Kim Jongin | Kai, Blood and Injury, Five Stages of Grief, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jongin’s Birthday Week 2021, Other, References to Illness, but make it ballet, dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29891421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldbrewgirl/pseuds/coldbrewgirl
Summary: Jongin would do whatever it takes to dance again.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7
Collections: Challenge #14 — We Artist Baby!





	black swan

**Author's Note:**

> the ballet terms and medical terms might be slightly inaccurate; please bear with me
> 
> much love to my beta and to the people who helped along the way *heart eyes*

> “A dancer dies twice — once when they stop dancing, and this first death is the more painful.” 
> 
> -Martha Graham

_coupé_

Jongin leapt.

And it’s a beautiful sight, him. Back arched gracefully in the air, hands extended outward, legs spread wide, toes curled on pointe, Jongin smiled triumphantly, heart soaring at the gasps of amazement from the crowd. This, this _exact moment_ , this is what he lives for. He twisted midair to prepare for a perfect landing, then landed lightly on his right le—

**_crack_ **

_No_. Jongin could almost feel his bone fracturing, his heart fissuring, then the burning. His leg was burning. _Nonononononono this isn’t happening._ It was. 

Then everything was hazy, and it was as if he was an outsider looking in on his life with a sort of almost clarity — like things would never be the same again. The gasps of the same crowd — although this time, it was definitely not in amazement — and then the rush of people, his friends, his mentors; the red and the blue — motion sickness, he hated fast car rides — and the constant burning that no one seemed to be able to put out.

_Brittle bone disease_ , the doctors had declared with such finality, and that had been it. Jongin had almost laughed at how ridiculous everything had sounded then, because it couldn’t have been true, right? None of this was happening, not to him, not ever. 

  
  
  


_tombé_

“Hey Jongin, are we feeling better today?” A nurse asked brightly as she bustled into his hospital room. Jongin sighed and closed his eyes, not wanting to make conversation with anyone. 

“Anyway, you have more flowers today, and this one has a card. I’ll put them right beside you so you can reach it.” The nurse had continued talking anyway, and it was as if she didn’t care whether or not Jongin responded. His right hand balled into a fist as the side of the bed dipped with the weight of the bouquet. 

Jongin scowled, but waited until the doors hissed shut, then reached over sideways, patting the length of the bed lightly until his fingers touched soft petals. He grasped at the card and held it up, sunlight glinting off the gold emboss on the heavy envelope. 

_Kim Jongin_

Jongin ran his fingers over the smooth paper, then stopped momentarily at his name.

_We humbly thank you for your service to the New York Ballet Company..._

Jongin’s eyes skimmed over the rest of the letter, then came to a full stop as his blood froze over at the next words.

_However, it is with deep regret that we come to the decision that we will no longer be able to work with you…_

And something in Jongin just _snapped_ — his sanity, what little grip he had left of reality gone, just like that. He tipped his body sideways, his broken leg screaming in protest as he rolled off the bed, arm tangling up in the IV drip line, the stand and IV bag crashing down on top of him. His mouth opened in silent agony, streaks of angry tears painting his face. _Fuck, no_ ; gods, he didn’t need any more of this shit.

  
  
  
  


_pas de bourrée_

But maybe, just _maybe_ if he prayed — to the gods, to buddha, to A God — he’d magically be able to dance again. And he would, finally believe in an entity, that is; or maybe even give up the recognition and work long hours, gladly. He wouldn’t even complain if he no longer had major roles — and if that meant going back to being in the corps de ballet, he’d do it all in a heartbeat. 

And somehow he knew he should have gone to the hospital when his nosebleeds started happening too frequently, should have gotten it checked, Jongin thought, but it was a belated one, what with him already lying on the cold white bed. It was an endless routine of people — people coming in, people going out, people ogling at him, people whispering about him, _fuck_. He hated when they looked at him with that emotion what’s it called — right, _pity_. Pity. He didn’t want their pity; he wanted to _dance_. 

That’s all he ever wanted to do anyway. 

  
  


_glissade_

_And maybe it’s true_ , Jongin thought, _that the higher the climb, the harder the fall_. He lay back down on the cold ground as a trail of blood trickled down his nostrils, and his useless legs dangled on the edge of the cliff, crutches thrown haphazardly to the side. 

It’s an empty feeling, that darkness; the legs that want so much to dance but cannot, the arms that long to be free yet stay trapped at his side. Jongin swiped at his nose hastily, and the blood smeared his face, blurring his vision, choking his breath. His ballet shoes, which he had stuffed carelessly in his pocket, now stuck out of them almost mockingly. 

_You can’t dance, not anymore._

  
  
  


_grand jeté_

  
  


_But I want to dance_.

And maybe, maybe in another life, Jongin thinks, he will dance. 

_I will dance._

And then he _leaps_.

[twt](https://mobile.twitter.com/coldbrewgirl)

**Author's Note:**

> a semi-open ending, i know 
> 
> a black swan is an unpredictable event that is beyond what is normally expected of a situation, and has potentially severe consequences
> 
> comments and kudos appreciated ♡


End file.
